Just Deserts
by PrincessIxi
Summary: On an unexpected visit to Nythos, the Master gives the Doctor a taste of his own medicine in embarrassing shenanigans. AU


**Title **Just Deserts

**Rating **PG

**Category **Dr Who, Tenth Generation, AU

**Pairing/s **/

**Summary **On an unexpected visit to Nythos, the Master gives the Doctor a taste of his own medicine in embarrassing shenanigans. AU

**Author's Note**

Translation; All is well- _Tutto è bene_, all is not well- _Non tutto è ben_

Just Deserts means- _That which is deserved. A reward for what has been done - good or bad_

This is AU Post!End of Time. Basically, I've taken the concept that when Timelord's Regenerate, their old faces go to a different Universe instead of vanishing completely. This can be slightly backed up with the episode/ and or novel of The Three Doctors when the first, second and third Doctor work together. The Master here isn't- completely- insane as the drum beats and hunger are gone ( as he isn't the 'official' Master anymore, they were passed down to the next Master ) I hope that's not too confusing haha. .

This is just a light hearted drabble anyway. On a side note to why the Doctor calls the Master, Jonathan- because I started the joke of randomly naming the Master anything but the M word in _Duck Soup_ and thought it was cute so carried it on in this fiction too.

**Disclaimer **I do not own Dr Who or work under the BBC. Tenth Doctor is all Tennant, and the Master is belonging to John Simm- I really wish I owned both of these men, but don't, sad to say.

* * *

"Would Sir like Mithirilian excretion with that?"

"Um. . no," kick. "_Thanks_. No thankyou."

"I wonder how the Mithirilian excrete their waste in the first place. As far as I'm aware their entire body is completely spherical with no blemishes. I think they have ears though. Like a rabbits. Also now I think about it, they may photosynthesise. With their ears. Possibly. But where does all that negative energy go? Maybe its morphs out of them- like a ghost passing through. Oooh, I like that idea, I should invent new species as my hobby. Hm. This is going to bother me now. What do you think, Jonathan?"

"I think you bruised my shin," the Master's face is on the table top, leaning down to rub furiously at his assaulted leg bone.

"I think I'll ask the waiter when he comes back."

"I think you're not even listening to me."

"Sorry, what did you say, I wasn't listening?"

The Master thinks it's a good idea to simply keep his head on the table and not look up for a while, or he'll simply bring his forehead back down and smack it repeatedly on the plastic surface.

He's exhausted by simply sitting across from the Doctor.

He can't remember much of the trip over here, because the Master is quite positive the experience has scared him mentally. Clinging on for dear life to whatever he could grab onto as the TARDIS had cut through the time vortex at illegal speeds, making the interior of the space craft shake up and down like they were in a blender put on high. It didn't help that the ship had been flashing her warning lights and smelling dangerously like she was on fire and the Doctor had been laughing crazily like it was the best rollercoaster ride ever. The assurances of "Tutto è bene," were lost on him, as the Master had simply screamed back; "NON TUTTO E BENE!"

Then the entire space craft had flipped right over and smashed headlong onto whatever was outside. The Master had clung onto the levers and wires as his legs swung out into mid air. The Doctor hadn't been holding onto anything at the time, and was at the top of the TARDIS – then it had been the bottom- wondering what on earth had just happened for him to be in that position.

After much head rubbing and shoulder slamming the door open, they at last could name their crash landing site. It was the exotic resort planet known as Nythos. The planet was made up entirely of disproportionate trees and the jungles they resided in, massive lakes and rivers, and soon to be explored caves and rock faces. The only industrial damage done to the beautiful planet was the hotel in the very tops of the trees, that not just held sleeping courters and travel guides and souvenir shops, but a dinky little cafe' the Timelords now found themselves in, waiting for a mechanic to right the TARDIS back on her legs instead of her head.

The waiter comes back, holding a tray with two very English looking teas, and two plates that a vegetarian would have smile at. The Master frowns at the pathetic looking leaves and sprouts poking up at him like a tongue. The natives eat and serve nothing but organic matter.

"Excuse me, I was wondering-"

Oh stars he's actually going to _ask_.

The Master boots the Doctor hard under the table. "Doctor, we're in _public_."

"What?" the Timelord sounds scandalized. "You make it sound like you're embarrassed to be seen with me."

"I AM!" Which frankly attracts just as much attention as the crude, question asking Doctor. A few aliens swivel round to stare at them, and their waiter's long, reptilian like tail curls awkwardly, wishing he could slither away and leave them to duke it out in private. "This is why we can't go out to nice places!"

This happens _every time _they reach a new planet. The embarrassing situations. The Doctor is eccentric enough behind closed doors, does he really have to show it to the whole galaxy too? The no-shame-here questions, the quirky actions that accompany them and always having to stick his nose into _everything_. Actually, the Master doesn't mind him doing his thing to the whole galaxy, as long as _he _isn't in the equation. It's like when your friend laughs to loudly and obnoxiously, and you quietly bring your hand up to cover your eyes and hunch your shoulders and hope like _hell_ nobody you know is around.

"You're doing a good job by yourself of creating a scene."

"Remember Quilia? _Remember_?"

"Streaking is a well known custom to show respect in certain parts of Quilia, I don't make up the rules on every planet. It was very liberating I'll have you know."

"Oh my god, please _don't_. Do y'see what I have to put up with?" the Master drags the waiter into it, a look of utter contempt scrawled across his face. Right. Time to knock the Doctor down a few pegs, the Master thinks. "And do you know what makes it ten times worse? My existence that is," the blonde alien continues like the Nythean will spontaneously whip on a pair of spectacles and note pad and ask _and how did that make you feel? _The Doctor breaths "oh here we go" with much eye rolling and self conscious glances as the entire cafe' ear wiggles in on them. A female alien with white skin and porcupine quills whispers to her companion who has high elf ears with an electric current that sings between one tip to the other.

The Master unzips his high collared jacket and pulls on the chunky red accessory around his neck. "This thing here. Do you know what it is? It's a collar- something you put on your pet _Labrador_. This one here," at this, he jabs a finger at the Doctor. "Thought it would be a right old laugh because- well it's actually quite a long story, you see we're supposed to be dead. Me and him. Quite complicated too, because I think there's us, then another 'us' out there, but wearing different faces. My hypothesis is, when we Regenerated our old faces, meaning these faces, got transported to another Universe- I'm willing to bet all our older Regenerations are still out there but in alternate Universes. But, um. . . huh. Got a bit off track. What was I saying?"

"About how I won't even let you breath out of sync around me?"

"Right. You see he has this dinky little sonic screwdriver, and he thought he would be _so _clever and sonic up the collar- it happened to be in the room at the time-" while I was in a straight jacket he edits out. "So whenever he feels like it, he can activate his screwdriver and send an electric charge through the collar to zap me."

"Oh you poor dear," one of the natives calls across the room, some even tutting disapprovingly at the Doctor.

"Oh, come on! He isn't being serious," the Doctor huffs in outrage. A salt shaker is thrown at his head.

"Yes, it's really quite terrible," the Master plays up for his sympathetic audience. The collar in question has nothing modified about it. It's just a bungy old strip of leather. He's only worn it today because, well, something had told him he would come in handy.

A look of genuine pain crosses his features as he looks up at the ceiling. He wonders if he can bring out tears if he tries hard enough. "I haven't done anything to deserve this punishment. Sometimes he chains me to a pole outside. And when we're in our space craft, he doesn't wind down the windows on hot summer days. In these kinds of temperatures, it can kill an alien in six minutes you know."

As if they are on stage performing Shakespeare, the room collectively gasps in horror. "Oh my word!" "How can you sleep at night?!" "You monster!"

Heh. He wasn't elected President by winning smile alone.

"I- he. He's tried to enslave the human race. Twice!" The Doctor splutters, not happy at all to have his feet knocked out from under him. He rounds on the Master, hazel eyes narrows and _warning_ him, like a mother does if she catches her child creeping towards the cookie jar.

"How can you lie like that, Master?" the Master suddenly sniffs, lowering his head as if his emotions are over welling him. This makes the room explode.

"Master?! You sicko!" "You should be ashamed of yourself!" "You should be locked up." "To right." "Throw him out of here!" "Yeah!"

And with that, the waiter, the manager and a hoard of cafe' goers haul the Doctor out of his chair and frog march him towards the exit, yelling abuse all the way. The Doctors cries of "now hold on a minute" "you can't possible believe-" "this is an outrage!" are drowned out.

Finally, the noise grows quieter as the sliding doors swish shut behind them.

The Master happily sips on his black tea, feeling this has been the best trip they have had so far.

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**END**


End file.
